[3] Another Encounter

(Malory)

Kyle was nowhere to be found this morning. By the time the first bell rings, I’m exhausted trying to spot the idiot, so while everyone else hurries to their classrooms and the morning announcements damage my eardrums over the PA system, I burst into the science class and scan the room.

Mr Deacons, the physics teacher, almost gets a heart attack from my sudden appearance. I must’ve interrupted his lesson, though that doesn’t particularly matter to me because I’m pretty sure that no person in their right mind starts teaching a class while people are talking over the PA. Deacons just thinks he’s some special science god.

“Good morning, Mr Deacons,” I say, “I’m terribly sorry to intrude but there’s an emergency. Davidson and I need to head to the principal’s office. Right now.”

The startled wannabe science god turns to Kyle and gives him a quick nod, saying “Sure, go ahead, Kyle.”

Kyle slams the cover of his notebook down unto the other half of it, dropping his pen and leaning back into his seat with folded arms. He’s not having it with my bullshit emergency story. “What do you want?” He asks me.

“Did you read the script?” I inquire, frantic.

He gives me this confused, oblivious expression, “What?”

For a genius, Kyle has such a slow brain.

“The script, Davidson; the script we got yesterday for the play.”

In realisation, he remains calm and sighs. “No, I haven’t. Should I have?”

“Oh my god you’re so incompetent,” I mutter, I roll my eyes and they land on Olivia, sitting near the window at the end of the classroom.

What’s going on? She mouths to me, puzzled. I give her a pointed look. I turn back to Kyle. “Get your script out. Come. Come now.”

“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of learning?” he spits, exasperatedly.

I sigh and relax my tensed muscles. I unzip my schoolbag and pull out my copy of the script.

Last night, I’d gone through the entire thing from beginning to end, highlighting, scribbling notes, cursing the living daylight out of my bad luck and basically abusing the poor sheets of paper to the point where it looked like a dog had actually eaten and regurgitated it. “You’re keeping the class back by sitting around, Davidson,” I say.

He looks around to confirm that I’m right. All the other students in the class –and Mr Deacons- are staring at us in silence.

“But-”

“-Oh for God’s sake,” I cut him off, pinching my fingers onto his ear and pulling him into a standing position. He yells, and I proceed to pull him out of the classroom while simultaneously apologizing to the teacher once more. “I’m sorry for the intrusion again, Mr Deacons. He’ll just be gone a few minutes.”

Reaching the corridor, Kyle lets out a painful groan before yelling, “Let go of me, Mother Mayhem, I can walk on my own!”

I release his ear and he stands for a brief moment to catch his breath and stare at me in horror. After I decide that a moment is all he needs, I grip at his silky black hair –covering his face as always- and began pulling him away again.

“Not the hair! Not the hair! Not the hair!” The poor bastard cries.

I ignore him. “If you keep whining I’ll yank you by those two unflattering black snake bites on your bottom lip next. Would you prefer that?”

Immediately, it’s as if Kyle had gained the strength of Hulk. He pulls away from me and finds a way to tower his height above me. He won’t scare me.

“Do you actually want me to kill you?” He offers. “Do you want that septum piercing yanked out of your nose before you can even touch me? Let go.”

I decide fretting over his incompetence is no longer a job of mine. Calm and unbothered, I reply. “You’re so incompetent. If you had read the script last night you’d know why I’m bullying you into the principal’s office right now. Not that I wouldn’t have done it anyway.”

“What is up with you?” He asks, rubbing the part of his head where I pulled at the hair roots. I sincerely hope that it hurt. “What’s so despairing that you had to kidnap me from class and couldn’t save the bullying for break or lunch?” He continues, “Jeez, Lloyd, you’re really something.”

He drifted from reality for a second before rolling his eyes and glaring at me to shake it off. I decide not to touch him again.

“Just follow me.”

Bursting through the doors of the principal’s office, we find Mrs Beverly seated with Mrs Cole and Mr Richards, laughing over whatever. All laughter ceases, however, when we enter the room. I pinch Kyle by his ear again and he stumbles away from me to cover it. If it had ripped off I’d bore a hole into it and wear it as a necklace. If I was a member of a cannibalistic, indigenous tribe and I wore that, they’d either say I was cursed or a god. It’s too bad that such ornaments are frowned upon in our society.

Mrs Beverly is the first to plaster a blank expression over her pearly smile before responding to us. “Malory. Kyle. What’s the matter?”

I slap my script onto the office desk, biting both my lips between my teeth and inhaling deeply. In as low a tone as possible, I try to remain as polite and respectful as possible while getting my point across.

Not exactly.

“Mrs Beverly. Mrs Cole. Mr Richards. It’s rather fitting that you’re all here –save for Miss Jenkins.”

Mrs Bev looks at me bewildered at first. “What’s bothering you? I hope you two haven’t gotten yourselves into trouble with teachers this early in the morning.”

“Hey lowlife,” the genius dreg beside me says, “I’m missing physics because of you. What the hell did you drag me all the way here for?”

“I have read this play dozens of times,” I poke my index finger down onto the script, “I have seen it,” I poke it again, “I have learnt parts of it before,” another poke, “And while taking into account every single time I’ve ever crossed paths with this play in my entire life, I must protest with strong opposition that there has never been a kiss scene.”

Kyle’s voice shakes the room.

“What!?”

He goes wide-eyed, pulling the script from under my finger and flipping through it, sloppily. “Where is it? Are you kidding me?”

I clench my teeth and speak without turning to him. “You see, Clueless Cliff? If you’d read it, you’d be aware.”

“We got the script yesterday, Lloyd. I’m usually quite busy if you didn’t know,” he says, continuing to flip through the script like an imbecile with a futile motive. “Look at all these damn scribbles and highlights, sheeshhhh... and you call this ‘organised’? WHERE IS THE KISS SCENE, MALORY?”

I’m tired of watching him make an absolute fool out of himself. I pull the script from him. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not doing it.”

“Why would you even-” he can’t even continue what he’s about to say to the adults in front of us. He runs a hand down the back of his head, dragging his fingers through the strands of his hair.

For a brief moment, I realised his hair was actually quite soft –at least it felt like he had a pretty good conditioner while I was yanking him into this office.

Beside the point.

I sharpen my thoughts by voicing the facts, “The play was fine with all its changes up till the point where you crossed the line with the kiss. There wasn’t meant to be a kiss. There was not meant to be a kiss.”

Kyle scoffs. “We aren’t doing it.”

I agree. “We are not doing it.”

A moment of silence passed through the room as the teachers study us.

“Are you both done?” Mrs Bev asks.

“I’ve presented my concerns and made the rival party aware of the issue. I’ve done my work here,” I say.

“Are you ready for the explanation?” She asks.

“Yes.”

“It hadn’t even been a full month after the previous April Fest when Miss Howel pitched the idea to use this play. Seems like she wanted to have an upper hand in the previous one but another member of the board had sponsored it so she sat still until it was over to present her own idea. Then, it was scripted in into its current concept and left to rest until this new school year began. The contents of the play were not changed since then to suit you two. And if you hadn’t misbehaved and caused trouble on the first day, you wouldn’t even need to be the leads for it. That was obviously decided later on, too.”

You see, Davidson? They weren’t planning on making us the leads. You dummy. You absolute idiot. You sickening dweeb. You disgustingly unintelligible hobo. You ignorant mountain-man.

“So does that mean we don’t have to do it, then?” He asks.

Oh my god, someone save me from this unintelligible nightmare.

“Leave the script as is,” Mrs Cole protests, sternly. “You dare not remove or ignore a single word from it.”

“I suppose you won’t have to do it if you agree to uphold the initial terms of cooperation,” Mrs Bev pitches in.

OH THANK YOU.

THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!

But then I realise even without having to do the kiss scene, I’d still have to cooperate with Kyle Davidson; the epitome of Putrefaction.

“But...” I trail off, turning to Kyle with a grave expression.

“Think of our deal,” Mrs Bev’s voice appears to taunt me.

“Madam,” Kyle says, “there’s literally no other reason why we’re both doing this.”

He’s right about that.

He turns to me and sighs in defeat, his expression softening. “I guess... I could at least try.”

I want to kill myself.

“If we try then we do not have to do the kiss scene, right? Is that right?” I ask in a desperate voice. I look to the teachers in anticipation.

“That can be arranged,” is all Mrs Bev says, in her expressionless, devilishly calm tone of voice.

“Fine!” I almost yell at them.

“Fine!” Kyle yells beside me.

I turn to stare at the human trash bag. I study Kyle for a moment. “Fine,” I say, low and defeated.

***

Lunch rolls in and Olivia and I take our trays to a table in the cafeteria in silence.

Olivia takes a bite so big out of her burger it’s like she’s swallowing a whale. “So what was this morning all about?”

Internally, I’m tempted to walk out of the cafeteria right then and there just to avoid the topic.

“Nothing,” I say, biting into a fry.

“Liar,” she replies, through a stuffed mouth.

I shove more fries into my mouth. “Did you read the play?”

“I had no time last night. I’ll do it before Friday, though.”

I almost choke on my mouthful of fries while trying to talk. “Well I read it. It’s not the same as all the other times I’ve read or seen it. There are... things. Things that weren’t there before. Strange things. Things I don’t want to talk about while eating because it’ll bring up the mental image of having to practice those things with Kyle Davidson and I’ll puke up all my lunch.”

“Stop talking with your mouth full and just chew your food,” she scolds me. “You’re making me want to puke right now.”

Speaking of the devil, Kyle and Ron stroll across from the cafeteria line and pass our table, stopping right in front of us. Kyle slams his tray down on the furniture. He picks up his burger –drenched in so many sauces I mentally sing the funeral song for the meat patty inside it- and he shoves half the burger into his mouth.

Obnoxious beast.

“Hello, Pal.” He says.

I almost gag.

I don’t acknowledge his physical existence beside me. I stare blankly at the wall in the distance behind Olivia and reply to him. “You disgust me. No, you know what? I’m not even going to tempt you to insult or fight me right now. You’re like a skin boil –or a pimple. When your top is popped, you’re despicably nauseating.”

Olivia and Ron share a stifled snicker at the comment.

Kyle clicks his tongue three times. “That’s no way to talk to someone you’re trying to cooperate with, now is it?” He says in a pseudo-innocent voice.

I open the raspberry juice on my tray. I take a sip. I swallow. I look up at him. I stand. “Isn’t it? Why don’t you cooperate with this?” I pour the rest of the juice over his head. He stands frozen at the feeling of the liquid on his skin, rolling down his cheeks, soaking into his scalp. Students who witness the action laugh and gasp from where they are. “Don’t worry,” I say to him, “Your shirt is black so the stains won’t show.” I smile wittily at him. “See? I can be considerate sometimes.”

Kyle allows the juice to run down his face. He doesn’t budge.

I look down at Olivia and laugh while she holds an expression of shock –covering her mouth in embarrassment and disappointment.

What I don’t see coming is Kyle squeezing the second half of his disgustingly sloppy burger in his hand and proceeding to wipe that same hand over the entire surface of my face.

I gasp in horror.

How dare he-

Kyle’s expression goes from blank to something not as grave as it is stern and frightening. “Don’t test me.” He says, walking away and pulling at the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his face. Ron watches him leave.

“That was... unnecessary,” Ron says, following behind his best friend.

I sit, my expression of disgust unwavering. “There is literally no way I’m surviving the next eight months. None. I’m going to die. I’m either going to die of embarrassment, or I’ll die of shame, or I’ll die of frustration or anger, or I’ll die because I’ll kill myself. The two of us are never going to cooperate.” I close my eyes, inhaling and exhaling a few times to remain calm. When I feel as though my voice won’t break if I speak, I do. “Olivia, do you have any extra napkins?”

She taps me on my shoulder and points behind me. I turn to look up and find Adrien Evans with an extended hand full of napkins, smiling shyly down at me.

“Malory, right?” He begins, “Here you go. Take these. What was all that about? Who is he? Some friend of yours?”

I accept the napkins and immediately slap about half of them unto my face. I want to laugh at the thought of Kyle and I being friends, but I’m too upset. “Thanks, Adrien -and hell to the most definitely not. Not in a million life times would I ever call Kyle Davidson a friend.”

“He doesn’t seem like the friendly type, otherwise. I mean I’ve only been here for two weeks but wiping sauce on someone’s face is the closest I’ve seen that guy come to having physical contact with someone besides dragging around that one friend of his. The one who’s always following him around...”

“Ron,” I say.

“That’s the one,” he confirms. He acknowledges Olivia, who’s already looking up at him but turns away the moment he turns to her. “Hi, I’m Adrien. I’m in Malory’s class,” he said to her, smiling.

“Oh, I know,” she replies, a little too quickly, “Everyone in senior year probably knows you by now.”

I finish wiping up my face. “You can take a seat if you want,” I offer.

“Okay,” he says, taking a seat beside me and digging into his plate of potato wedges. Olivia goes back to staring at him while he wasn’t looking.

Someone please slap the common sense of playing it cool into my best friend –she’s such a sell-out of herself when it comes to guys she finds interesting or attractive.

“Olivia, is there any sauce left on my face?” I ask her, hoping to snap her out of her daze before she embarrasses herself. She doesn’t reply at first. “Olivia,” I say, with more emphasis.

She snaps out of it and turns to me. “Huh? Oh, no, Mal. It’s all good.”

I turn to Adrien, watching him while he eats. “How come you’re not sitting at a lunch table where you’re surrounded by too many friends to even be spotted among them? You’ve been pretty distant from everyone since you got here. I thought you’d make a dozen friends on the first day.”

“I’m not the type to have a crowd of followers around me,” he says. “I’ve had to move so many times. That kind of life doesn’t exactly allow one to settle with a sizable group of friends. A few close friends, maybe. But not enough to make me a popular guy.”

That’s it. This guy has me curious. “If I may ask... How come you’ve had to move so much? And to think you could’ve been done with all this high school crap if you’d just stayed in the other city a bit longer and completed exams.”

“My family situation is a little complicated. My parents are divorced, and I’m living with my dad. He got full custody of me when I was eight, and things were fine then but now he’s a mess. So whenever he has to work, it’s always a hustle to move for both of us. It’s not a big deal. I’ve gotten used to it.”

I frown. “That’s pretty sad, though... I can understand the moving thing. My parents... were only able to afford to buy a house as recently as a year and a half ago. I’ve moved and rented houses and apartments my whole life basically. So I get the moving thing. As for friends, I’ve never had trouble finding them if I wanted to.”

“Friends like this one?” He asks, gesturing to Olivia, “or friends like that guy, Kyle?”

I laugh. “Kyle is not my friend. He never was my friend. He never will be my friend. Clearly.”

“It’s not like he’ll be able to do anything to you anyway,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean judging by the way you two seem to go at it every day, you’re a tough one,” he compliments. “He can’t knock you down. He won’t. And if he tries, you can always call for me. I’m willing to be that friend.”

Ah, there it is; One of the classic fuckboy lines.

I scoff. “I can handle Davidson myself. I have handled him myself. For the past three years –this one will make it the fourth. I just can’t believe now it’s gotten to the point where we’re forced to get along for the sake of our records. Ugh. Me and my pathetic life.”

“Oh... you mean the April Fest thing?” He realises. “I heard about it. There are a lot of students talking about how you two have to take the leading roles and how apparently the two of you are a popular pair in the school when it comes to chaos. It’s not like I listen to gossip but from what I’ve seen today I’m guessing that what they say is true.”

“To put it simply, Adrien, He’s awful towards me. So I just return the favour. I hate his guts the same way he hates mine.”

He turns to Olivia. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“What?” She responds.

I laugh. “What? Olivia Prescott is quiet?”

Olivia couldn’t have felt any more offended. Truth is Olivia only looks quiet because she has to. Maybe her reserved demeanour is roped to the fact that her parents run a church, but what I know for sure is that her silence in this situation had nothing to do with her being the daughter of a pastor.

“I’m not,” she defends. “I’m really, really not. I’m just listening to both of you. I’m a little tired, I think. And upset. Malory, you’re still not telling me about what happened this morning –why you stormed into my Physics class to drag Kyle out by his ears.”

I groan. “Ugh, this again. Read the script, Olivia. I’m not getting into the details. It’ll make me sick.”

***

(Ron)

I’d given Kyle just enough time to let his fire die down a bit before approaching him. I finally find him in the boys’ bathroom, washing the juice off his skin and completely wetting his hair.

Kyle always gets so overworked when it comes to Malory Lloyd... and after four –almost five- years of being this guy’s friend, I’m used to dealing with it.

“Dude, breathe,” I say to him. “She’s just a girl.”

“Just a girl,” Kyle repeats, his voice dripping with spite. “Sure. You might as well go sit with her and Olivia every day, then. You’re always on her side.”

I am not. I simply don’t have a liking for the conflict between two parties where there doesn’t need to be. Malory is an awesome person... minus having strong, impulsive urges to get violent when threatened specifically when it involves Kyle, and spit some seriously wounding insults most of the time. She’s still an all-rounded, intelligent, charismatic person. It doesn’t take much to get along with her. Not for most people anyway.

Knowing that, it was always hard for me to understand just why she and Kyle never get along. It was hard to deduce why Kyle was always so closed off from people –even those who take the time to prove they’re being genuine towards him. Like me. You’d think that after four, almost five, years of knowing him I’d be able to pick his brain apart. I can’t. I don’t actually know that much about him. I observe and mentally record what I can. The rest of Kyle Davidson is a mystery to me. He doesn’t let me in.

Nevertheless, I know for sure that one of the main reasons I stuck around is because Kyle is like a predator waiting to pounce. One step over the line and he would go insane. I’ve only seen him get pushed over the edge a couple times, but I know it happens. I know there’s more to it than him just lashing out for no reason.

“I’m saying it because I know your temper,” I tell him. “I’ve only seen you aggressive a handful of times but I know that it could get out of hand. She’s just a girl. Don’t sacrifice all that’s good in your life to destroy her.”

He turns the tap off to look at me with that stupid blank expression he always reserves just for me when I try to warn him –when I try to protect him. “You know, Ron,” he says, his tone mechanical, “it’s like you know me but you don’t know me. You say you’re looking out for me but you deliberately word things in a way that feels like an attack towards me.”

“What are you even talking about?” I ask, puzzled.

Then Kyle closes off again. He sighs, closing his eyes to stifle annoyance.

“You’re either on my side or not. Stop walking the line.”

With that, he pushes past me, bumping into my shoulder on purpose and walking out of the bathroom. I watch him leave.

He’s so lost; my best friend. Never mind the fact that he’s incredibly smart and has a funny bone every once in a blue moon, or that he’s extremely determined and ambitious. He’s still lost. In so many ways.

It amazes me that even after all these years I still can’t pinpoint a defined method of dealing with him; of getting him to crack; of prying him open.

I don’t really care anymore, though. As much as I worry about him, I’ve spent far too much time by his side to mope over defeat when I don’t get the answers I want. Time reveals all. Doesn’t it?

I’m patient though, and I stick with my hopes that being that patient isn’t a crime –that someday I’ll get the answers I want –that someday Kyle would learn that life isn’t all about work or keeping secrets. Sometimes we need each other to help us realise how to fix ourselves.

Isn’t that part of friendship?